


remember this touch

by shibuya



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Choking, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-19 07:06:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12405474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shibuya/pseuds/shibuya
Summary: Count Lucio struggles with ego and desire. Julian makes up the difference.





	remember this touch

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the past where Julian is serving as Lucio's doctor at the palace. The pairing is a bit odd and a bit scarce, but I couldn't help but sort of feel bad for Lucio being bedridden and mostly hated. The latter, for good reason, but it still tugged at me. Anyway, those tags are kinda uncouth (lol) but I feel the need to warn that some of the stuff here, while it is consensual, is kinda rough. Lucio also has some weird violent thoughts. Be warned and read safely, fam

The sound of glass shattering gave way to footsteps, and the gilt framed door to the Count's room swung out with an ugly squeal of metal. The mousy chamberlain gave Julian a tearful nod and tore off down the hallway with nary a look behind him, putting a generous distance between himself and the dastardly royal's room before truly bursting into tears. Julian sighed, shook his head, and waited a few polite moments before rapping at the Count's door.

The reply was instantaneous. “I thought I told you not to come back, you vile, _idiotic - ”_

Julian swept in, giving the bedridden man a deep, flourishing bow before he could continue on the onslaught. “Good evening, Count Lucio. May I inquire as to your condition tonight?” 

Lucio gave a foul grimace. His golden blond hair was disheveled, and there were deep circles under his eyes. He rose up to his elbows in bed with a weak, slouching posture, his red gaze glowing menace. “How do you think, you hack? Nothing you have attempted has eased any symptom in even the _slightest_ way. I ask myself: why do I allow this creature to remain at my palace, when it has borne no fruit, has eased none of my suffering?” 

Julian gave a careless grin. “I'm not so hard on the eyes, am I? And I daresay you'd have some trouble, finding another doctor willing to withstand such abuses. I'm hurt, you know.” 

“Let it motivate you,” Lucio told him, a look of disgust settling on his features. “You always preferred the stick to carrot, anyway. Vile.” 

Julian gave a shrug as he approached the Count's bedside. He waited a moment, and Lucio gave a stiff nod, more a jerk of a head than anything. With his permission, Julian neared, and placed his hand between Lucio's shoulder and neck, feeling for his pulse. How spindly and weak his body had become – almost unrecognizable from the strong, finely-honed tool that belonged to the mercenary he'd served so many years ago. But there was a shadow of strength to him still; he was, of course, an exceedingly proud man, and despite all his impediments (and his good doctor's advice) Lucio often pushed his body, usually in service of his ego. That one, dear thing that even the most virulent strain of plague could not tarnish.

“Have you been walking?” Julian asked, his voice light. 

“And if I have?” Lucio snapped. “It's infuriating, waiting for these useless servants to scurry about anytime I ask for simple things, knowing how they dawdle. Why hurry for a sick man? He has all the time in the world. Until he relieves us all.” Lucio's voice was bitter and thin.

Julian's response was more soft than before. “It's no problem if you like to walk. I would just … advise against overdoing it, is all.” Julian gave a pointed look to the Count's desk – where his gilt-handled blade and sheathe hung from his chair, gleaming out at them both. Old habits really did die hard, didn't they? But Julian understood that. 

The silence easily doubled as an accusation. Lucio's pulse spiked a bit under his hand, a thrum of anger like summer lightning. “It is your job to heal me. If I become hurt, in whatever way, that is what you will do.”

“It is.” Julian agreed. “Show me anything. I will do my best to mend you.”

Lucio's expression became, for a moment, unreadable, as he lifted off his tunic. There was a fine line of red along his abdomen, like the string of a necklace, beaded with blood. Julian inhaled sharply, pulling away to grab up his things – the bandages, the disinfecting poultice – but Lucio thrust a hand into his hair, stilling him. The sting prickled up Julian's neck, setting his nerves on end – though Lucio didn't pull or yank as roughly as he could have.

Julian bent his head, groaning softly. “I shouldn't - ”

“You'll do whatever I tell you,” Lucio told him, his voice icy.

Julian followed the sharp, guiding pull of Lucio's grip, and he put his mouth on Lucio's body. The taste of his blood was scarce and weakly metallic; yet it felt like fire on his tongue all the same as he slowly traced the line of the wound. He couldn't stop thinking, _where did he get this? How long ago? It still bleeds. What must the state of the other man be? If I walked to his desk and took up his sword, would it be covered with red?_ The taste of blood faded, there was nothing left to kiss. Julian pressed his mouth against the stark curve of Lucio's hip – that fragile bone there. 

“Ilya,” Lucio said, sucking in a breath. He pulled Julian off of him by the ends of his hair, jutting his chin. “You want me?” 

Julian's heart ached. _The proud and conquering count._ What does he think, asking these questions? A shade of Lucio spoke to him, in his mind. The vague shape of the man, between the memory and the sickly thing. _If I am sick and I cannot fight, if I take on wounds that I would have easily dodged before, would you still desire me? Do you want me?If I languish in bed, if I cannot even chase my servants, would you desire me then?_

Truly, Julian was no one to answer those questions – he was hardly once of Lucio's fancy, painted lovers that entertained his whims in any proper way. Nor was he able to fulfill every desire. But he could give him this certain thing, at least; more to hoard for the endlessly devouring ego, asking for something to chew. 

“Yes, I want you,” Julian told him.

Lucio breathed out a vicious laugh. “Pitiful.”

Julian gripped the count's thigh, kissing the crest of his hip again. Lucio allowed it, taking in a hard breath as Julian's gloved fingers tangled in the laces of his trousers in his hastiness to pull them away. When Julian closed his mouth around Lucio's cock, tasting him, there was an erotic thrill in how roughtly Lucio's prosthetic hand closed around Julian's shoulder, seizing like claws. As Julian trailed his tongue down the shaft, and he could see and even feel, with utter intimacy, how the Count reacted: there was a shiver of pleasure trailing up his spine – a warm, desirous arrogance colored his face – his eyes were burning embers. 

Lucio reached down, trailing his thumb along Julian's lower lip, almost an innocent gesture. “You bite this lip, when you feel you want to be overcome … It's charming, to have these little things that tell me so much about you.” Lucio's words were breathy but even; startlingly level. Julian gave some hum of response before pulling away, panting hard, his lashes fluttering. He bit his lip.

Lucio wiped Julian's mouth with his sleeve, his expression segueing back into one of impassive conceit. “Finish me, and I'll humor you, Ilya,” Lucio said, bringing Julian close. He kissed his ear, then his neck, his fingers brushing lightly around Julian's throat. “Yes, here ...”

The doctor practically choked on his own, giving Lucio a strangled noise of pleasure. Even just at the promise of these things, he was easier to provoke than an ox in the ring. 

Lucio let him use his hands. He had fine fingers, steady for surgery. If Lucio were anything like Nadia with her penchant to mark and piss all over everything she owned, he might have his doctor fitted for a ring to suit those fingers – rubies or garnets. Gold. 

Lucio half-embraced Julian, who leaned over him, his hand stroking tenderly, languorously, between his legs. There, Lucio was able to hold him by the shoulder again, and whisper disgusting things into his ear. The sort of tripe that village girls used to like, back south – it amused him, repeating it, and how much Julian seemed to respond, fervently angling his mouth down so he could kiss Lucio's jaw, kisses in the shape of _yes, yes, yes._

“Let me – please, let me - ” Julian murmured. He'd brought him close. Lucio gave a sharp, gasping exhale, and came in Julian's hand, dragging his fingers through Julian's hair in restless pulls, lips moving wordlessly. 

Julian kissed him on the mouth, swallowing the breath. Soft. Lucio allowed it, for the entirety of one, warm, golden moment, before rearing away and slapping him hard across the face.

“My apolog - ”

Lucio didn't let him finish, and threw out a hand to throttle that neck of his. His skin burned under his fingers, yet Lucio squeezed ruthlessly all the same, pushing him down on the bed, using both hands, putting his teeth on Julian's ear. He wanted to rip it off like a chunk of meat. He wanted to watch the doctor's face turn pale and blue under his hands – for a kiss, this he'd do. 

Julian was hard, where his groin met the curve of Lucio's hip, from where their limbs had fallen. Lucio ground his body against that hardness, palms flexing against Julian's throat. _Gasp out my name. Just try._

 _“Count,”_ Julian wheezed, half a puff of air. “L-Luc - ”

Lucio's grip on his neck relented, though he left his hand there, feeling the air pass through him as Julian gave a drowning man's gasp. Lucio drew his tongue over the curve of his cheek as he reached down between them with his good hand, gripping Julian so hard it must have been painful.

The doctor came without another breath, shocked out of his wits, staring up at Lucio, flushed, bewildered. They both breathed hard for a moment, and Julian's shock melted away, and Lucio's anger along with it. It bled out of him like a stuck wound, and he helped Julian up with him in bed, his chest pounding.

His heart felt weak, his lungs burned. There was a terrible bruise forming around Julian's neck, and the sight gave Lucio a pang of keen, possessive pleasure. Like a necklace. Like a favor from the Count.

“Help me clean and change,” Lucio told him, grazing his thumb gently over Julian's neck, where the worst of it was. Julian's throat trembled under the touch. The voice that came out was brittle.

“Yes, absolutely.”

Lucio shut his eyes, smiling. A voice he liked. “Good then. Help me up.”


End file.
